


A Frappé for the Dark Lord

by AFamiliarWitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Frappuccino, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:55:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28432776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AFamiliarWitch/pseuds/AFamiliarWitch
Summary: The Dark Lord was not happy, and when the Dark Lord was unhappy, then everybody was unhappy.Perhaps Stephen has the solution, for once.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	A Frappé for the Dark Lord

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to [magicspacehole](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicspacehole/profile) for the wonderful beta work!

The drink in Stephen’s hand was cold, but the feeling in his chest was colder.

The Dark Lord was not happy, and when the Dark Lord was unhappy, then everybody was unhappy.

“Explain to me,” Voldemort said in that low, sibilant voice that signalled imminent danger, “why that old fool’s Order once again got the better of you?”

The Death Eaters shifted like a chilly breeze had blown across them. Nobody was foolish enough to speak first.

“Lucius,” Voldemort finally hissed, and the tension was palpable. “I hear you’ve managed to place someone else at the Ministry under your influence. Very good.”

Bowing low, Lucius let out an audible noise of relief. “Thank you, my Lord.”

“So is that all?” Voldemort boomed now, and several Death Eaters visibly cringed. “A handful of failures and one Imperiused Ministry employee?”

Stephen’s hand shook. Should he speak up? Given the Dark Lord’s current mood, he wasn’t sure. But perhaps… Perhaps it would be enough to spare his fellow followers a painful  _ Crucio _ .

“M-my Lord?” he stuttered, then cleared his throat. “My Lord,” he said again, louder and firmer this time, trying not to recoil as Voldemort’s blood-red gaze fixed itself upon him. “I m-managed to Imperius  _ two _ people last week, if it pleases my Lord.”

Voldemort’s lips curled into a grotesque approximation of a smile. “Avery,” he purred, curling a finger at him, “step forward and tell me of these accomplishments.”

Stephen gulped as Death Eaters stepped aside for him. “W-well, my Lord, first I managed t-to Imperius Stan Shunpike, my Lord.” Voldemort’s expression didn’t change at all whatsoever, so Stephen rushed to explain. “He’s the conductor of the Knight Bus, my Lord. I thought, perhaps, if he had any important passengers, o-or… something like that…” His voice faltered and faded away. But Voldemort didn’t seem to be getting  _ angrier _ , so Stephen rallied himself and pressed on. “And then, my Lord, I-I used the Imperius on a Muggle. I know it doesn’t seem important, but I thought, perhaps, my Lord might like a caffeinated beverage.” He held out the cup, now perspiring, as he tried and failed to hold Voldemort’s piercing gaze.

“What is  _ that _ ?” Voldemort hissed, and without realising he’d done it Stephen took a hasty step back.

“It’s called a frappuccino, my Lord!” he squeaked, shaking uncontrollably. “It’s delicious!” Voldemort stood from his chair, his robes swirling ominously, and Stephen cowered as the Dark Lord approached him, but didn’t dare step back again. “I-I brought it for you, my Lord!” he quavered, thrusting the drink out like a shield.

It was yanked brutally from his hand a moment later, and time seemed to stand still as Voldemort examined the plastic container he now held.

“It’s  _ cold _ ,” he finally stated, as if the very concept was ridiculous.

“Y-yes, my Lord,” Stephen stammered. “It’s a frozen caffeinated drink. Procured from the Muggle I Imperiused at a coffee shop. I thought, perhaps, once we’ve cleansed the magical community, m-my Lord might turn his sights toward the Muggles, and p-perhaps knowing which Muggles would be useful slaves would be helpful to you.” Stephen wasn’t sure where all  _ that _ had come from, as it was total bollocks, but Voldemort  _ did _ seem intrigued. “You should try it, if it pleases my Lord,” he added in a tiny voice.

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed, somehow becoming  _ more _ snakelike, and the entire group held their breath as he brought the cup to his slit of a mouth. His thin lips pursed for a moment, and then he took a sip.

The silence was thunderous, and Stephen could hear his blood pounding in his ears.

“This is… acceptable.”

A collective sigh of relief breathed through the room as Voldemort returned to his chair, the frappuccino still clutched in one claw-like hand. The meeting carried on as usual, punctuated only by the sounds of Voldemort continuing to sip noisily, until everyone had finished making their reports and he reached the bottom of his drink and air rattled through the straw.

“Perhaps there is hope for you yet,” Voldemort finally said, finger tapping on the empty cup. “Know this, though: I expect better results at our next meeting, or you  _ will  _ be punished. Dismissed,” he added, waving one hand through the air.

Death Eaters began to filter out of the room, palpable relief filling the air as they realised they’d all escaped a meeting unharmed for once. Stephen was nearly at the door when he heard Voldemort speak again.

“Avery,” he said, not loudly, as he knew that his voice alone was commanding enough. Stephen stopped immediately, turning and bowing again. “Next week, I’d like something with chocolate in it.”

“Y-yes, my Lord,” he choked out, hardly able to believe his luck.

He managed to keep himself together until he’d left the grounds of Malfoy Manor and Apparated away, appearing in an alley close to his house. He practically skipped down the street; the Dark Lord had  _ liked _ the frappuccino! Perhaps, if he managed to keep selecting nice drinks for him, in time  _ Stephen _ could be one of the favoured inner circle!

Snape with his oily, stupid hair didn’t stand a chance! And Lucius,  _ hah _ ! He was barely staying away from death as it was! No, now was  _ Stephen’s _ time, and the way up the ladder was clearly via fancy caffeinated beverages. Ooh, and maybe with extra whip next time! That had looked very lovely on the illustrated menu board at the café. For a moment, the foreboding thought of what could happen to him if Voldemort  _ didn’t _ like extra whip crossed his mind, but he pushed it away.

Maybe, just to be sure, he’d spend the next week trying different drinks at the café with the Imperiused Muggle. That way, he could be extra certain that the Dark Lord’s drink was perfect at the next meeting.

He couldn’t think of a single better use of his time.


End file.
